The Fallen Warrior
by charade1234
Summary: Jack Frost had heard of her. A fine warrior of the legion, now ripped from her life and forced into the deepest dungeon. Jack went to her with a curious mind and questioning eyes, but what he saw compelled him to know more behind those cold blue eyes and curt replies. So he crouched until his nose touched the steel prison bars and said, "Hey, want some food?" Roman Legionary AU!
1. Chapter 1 : The Warrior

**A/N : Second Jelsa story by charade1234!**

**Rating : T for violence and curses. **

**Warning : This story may be based upon Roman legionary, but the setting of the story itself is not in Rome. Some culture may be different, but that is intentional. The names of places mentioned here is completely fictional. Creatures mentioned here may be taken from Greek Mythology, Egyptian mythology, Celtic mythology, etc. There may be some grammar mistakes here, for I have no beta and English is apparently not my mother tongue (though it's a pretty lame excuse). Feel free to correct any mistakes you've found. **

**Disclaimer : Frozen and ROTG are owned by their rightful owners, Disney and Dreamworks. The story is, however mine. **

**Enjoy reading!**

* * *

**Winter, 23rd Year '56**

The girl was thin and filthy, her skin sickly pale, her lips blue, and her platinum blond hair damp and stale. She wore an oversized thin cloth to cover as much skin as possible from the cold; Atticus could tell it wasn't working―his own clothes and boots weren't working at this time of the year. But she held the dull knife in her hand with a vice-like grip, as if the frostbite did nothing to her.

Crouched behind her was a much younger girl. She was as thin and filthy as the other one, with the same pale skin and blue lips, but her hair was a strawberry blond instead of platinum blond. The cold was bothering her; Atticus could tell by how fast she wolfed down the bread they'd stolen from him as if it could provide the heat she needed.

"Don't move!"

The General's eyes flickered from the knife to the girl, amused, and then took a cautious step forward.

She blindly swung it into his direction, baring her teeth angrily.

"You do know, I would've kindly asked back my bread and avoided such confrontations," he waved his hands to the half-eaten bread. "Though it seems I have to change my plans."

It was the younger one who spoke up this time. Her bread was momentarily forgotten as she stood on her bony legs, chest puffing with confidence, and she pointed a finger at him. "I'm not afraid of you! My sister's gonna kick your butt in a snap of a finger!"

The general only tilted his head. "Are you sure about that? Do you even know who I am? What I am?"

"You're just one of those people who dress fancy and bathe in money!"

Atticus frowned at the remark, because certainly he _was not _those type of people. But there was no use arguing with them anyway, so instead he said, "Mm. Not quite."

And suddenly, a shadow loomed over them ― the girls looked up in alarm, mouth slightly gaping while Atticus grinned in satisfaction, like how he always did when his technique work.

The daemons called him _The Eye Finagler, _and his magic did trick the eyes for his illusions were not made in the mind but were seen in the eyes as real, touchable things ―except of course, they weren't real and they weren't touchable. A hologram created by his own mind.

Whatever's shadow it was, it had disappeared, replaced by a creature that was only told in myths and legends of the ancient. The creature had a lion's mane, but did not have the head of a lion. Its snout was too long, too scaly, and when it growled, it revealed a set of small but sharp teeth, like a crocodile's. The front part of the body had paws and fur, but were replaced by skin and hoofs when it reached the rear.

Atticus forced one of his hands inside his coat's pocket (he really _hated _winter) and waved his other one over his new companion. "Children, this is Ammit, Devourer of The Dead, Eater of Hearts―"

"Enough, Atticus. Why have you summoned me?" Its voice was a mixture of a man and a woman's and together they sounded haunting ― but of course, it was Atticus himself who gave it that voice.

"An offering." They started to whimper.

"They are only children."

"Look closer, Ammit," he instructed and the beast narrowed its red eyes, turning from him to the girls. It circled them like how a lion would stalk its prey, scrutinizing, and taking in their appearances. When it got too close, they scooted further into the wall ― a dead end. It made the grin on his face even more frightening.

"You're right, Atticus. They do have _deliciously _good hearts…" The beast licked its serpent-like tongue against its mouth and bared its teeth.

The older one loosened her grip on the knife, the fear was visible in her eyes, and she held her sister's hand tighter, who was beginning to cry.

_Fools, you were never in danger. _

Everything went according to his plan; Atticus could already see the ending already. Ammit would lung at them and they would faint, and he'd leave, his message delivered. But what he didn't expect was the change of the older girl's demeanor. Her eyes widened, more out of realization instead of fear, and she looked directly at him with something he couldn't quite get. And then she ran at the incoming beast head on.

This caught him off guard. _This _shook everything he'd built for year; his belief, his _pride, _because over his 5 years of living as a general in the legion, this had never happened_._ The illusion slipped, the beast disappeared, and he saw the girl ramming into him and stabbing his leg with the knife.

Atticus doubled, clutching his injured leg as blood poured from the wound, staining the white snow with red spots. When he looked up at her, her blue lips were pulled into a victorious smirk and he _hated_ it. He _hated _how she looked down upon him. He _hated_ how a girl with no knowledge of magic at all defeated him with a dull knife. And now he _hated _the winter even more.

"You're a different one, aren't you," Atticus said through gritted teeth. "You saw pass my illusion."

"Elsa! Are you okay?" The girl ran to her sister and after she realized that this _Elsa _was unharmed she turned to him with a sneer.

"I told you Elsa's gonna kick your butt!"

Atticus chuckled at this, a hollow sound echoing off the walls of the alleyway, and the mirth radiating from them disappeared as quickly as it came. Sometimes, Atticus didn't need his illusion to scare his enemies. Sometimes he himself scared his enemies off. He plucked the knife, threw it aside, and slowly got to his feet.

He loomed over them now.

"You have potential inside you, _Elsa_." When he said _potential, _he pointed at her chest. "And I offer you a spot in the army, in the Legion. How does that sound?"

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"You won't suffer in the cold and sleep in the streets, and starve every night." He spread his arms wide in front of him, as if by doing so she could see what he was talking about. "I'll give you everything you need, the fame and the wealth and the power! But in return, you have to serve―" he was about to say _me, _but he caught his tongue. "―the country."

Elsa seemed to think over it. "Will my sister come?"

Atticus frowned and his eyes flickered to the small child holding her sister's hand. "She's not like you."

Elsa took a step back, that glare she'd given him earlier was there again. "I'm not going with you!" And she took off, pulling her sister with her.

He did not go after them; Atticus didn't need to. All it took was a bit of his magic and in a matter of seconds there were two lumps on the snow.

"Sadly, I don't take _no_ as an answer…." He said to no one particular.

He approached the first lump. Her blond hair was sprawled all over the white snow, and she looked so peaceful ― a contrast to what he'd seen earlier. He bent and slung her over her shoulder.

The second lump lied just behind where she'd fallen, and she too had that same peaceful face. Atticus stepped over her without a second glance and started back towards the fortress.

Atticus found out a lot of things about her that afternoon.

Like how she lost her parents and began living in the streets with her sister when she was only 7 and how often she had to steal from the wealthy even though she didn't want to. He also found out how strong her love towards her sister, which was unsurprisingly _very very strong. _

He took these away.

He also learned of her nature. Caring and loving, but fierce and brave when the time was right. She would defend the weak even she had to face thousands of daemons alone. Atticus let her keep these.

When she woke up that evening, the confusion was visible on her face, like a lost child trying to find her way back. But with every new information her mind was processing, her eyes became clearer and clearer, and she could look at him with a trace of recognition. She could even roam the fortress without getting lost. As if she'd been there hundreds of times.

There was no more Elsa. There was only Drussila. _His _Drussila. Atticus would make sure she would become his best yet, and by then, the daemons would've been ridden of this world and he'd rise as the King of Euphrates.

**Summer Year '62**

"Again, Drussila."

"I can't," The girl, now 15 years old, dropped the Gladius and looked at her hands. They were red, and the bandages she'd put last night didn't stop the blisters from ruining her training. Again.

Arsene handed her a canteen. She emptied it in seconds and handed it back to him.

"10 minutes break?" her mentor offered.

"Oh, yes! I was wondering when you were going to say that," she said and went for the bench under the cooling shade sail.

Her amount of training had been increased into something she presumed as absurd. It was sword training every morning, magic training every afternoon, and private school every night. Often she wished her body would just _break down_, get a simple fever or chickenpox. Then she could spend the whole day on her bed with headaches and bacteria running around her body, but on her bed nonetheless.

Arsene joined her a few moments later, and took the remaining space left of the bench. "How is your training with Silvia?"

Drussila's face beamed at this. "Silvia's teaching me how to ward off hexes!"

Silvia was one of the few living sorceress in Euphrates. She lived right at the border between Euphrates and Gatigos, or at least that was where she visited her last. Drussila had only visited her three times, each at different locations. It was usually the sorceress who came to the fortress to teach her, not the other way around.

"Hexes, huh? Nasty things there." Arsene, who never liked magic in the first place (he thought magic was cheating), seemed to agree. "Those damned daemons just love to hex us in almost every battle. You'd better be good at it, kid." He ruffled her hair, earning a glare from the girl, and when he chuckled, she only glared some more.

"Your father would be away for tonight, did you hear? Busy guy never lets himself rest."

Atticus. Now that Arsene mentioned him, Drussila could not keep her mind away from her adoptive father. For as long as she could remember, Atticus never treated her like how a father would treat her daughter. He did not buy her toys, or sing her lullabies when she could not sleep, but he fed her and gave her a life that women wouldn't usually get. When she told this to both of her teachers, they replied with the same answer, "That's how Atticus is." True, when she imagined him as the soft and affectionate type, she only got jitters.

"Do you know where he's going?"

Arsene seemed to be raking his brain, and after a few moments, answered with a shook of his head. "I don't think he mentioned anything like that." Then he snapped his finger, having just remembered something. "Ah, he told me you'd be sparring tomorrow―to see how well you've gotten."

Drussila looked aghast. "Spar? Again? I just sparred last week!"

"Too late to cancel it, kid. No, wait, Atticus will kill me if I cancel it," He said with a laugh and beside him, Drussila scowled.

"Fine," She said and crossed her arms. "I'll spar in order not to get us killed."

Atticus grinned at this and stood up, motioning for her to follow. "Come on."

"Is it ten minutes already?" She followed him, suspicion in her eyes. "I'm sure we've got a few moments to spare."

"10 minutes or not, we still got to prepare you for tomorrow."

"We've been preparing for _forever_," she countered. "Please, Arsene, no training for today?"

"Drussila…"

"If we keep training the blisters won't go away!" she showed her hands as prove.

Arsene took a good look at them and then said, "The general―"

"I won't tell him, I promise!"

Arsene sighed, massaging his temple as he did so. After a moment of inward debates, he said, "Fine. Okay."

Drussila cheered and gave her mentor a hug. "Thank you! I won't fail you tomorrow!"

"Make sure you put extra care on those!" he called after the running girl. He made sure he caught her nodding before chuckling softly at himself.

Kids. The mighty Arsene's weakness was kids.

If the general heard of this, he'd be a dead man by tomorrow for sure.

* * *

**Spring Year '65**

Today was a very special day for the people of Euphrates.

Since early morning, the stores had been overwhelmed with the amount of orders and purchases they had to process. The bakery was told to bake the biggest cake yet. There were women going in and out of boutiques for last minute purchases and the market was never empty. Similar situations were happening all around Euphrates.

When the sun was halfway down to the horizon, the streets were clear and deserted. The stores were closing. The curtains were drawn and the doors were closed tightly shut. All activities seemed to cease, while in truth, the people of Euphrates were only waiting with giddy anticipation for night to come.

Drussila was also waiting with that same giddiness, but for an entirely different reason. Atticus had finally deemed her capable for doing a very special job, a job she'd yearned since the day she started serving the country. It was hard containing her euphoria in front of her adoptive father during the briefing and she went to her room directly after she was dismissed.

She began jumping up and down her bed like a five-year old.

Her years of training and hard work had finally paid off. Satisfaction didn't feel as pleasing as she expected it to be―but no matter. The spot was hers―to guard the King for the whole night.

When night finally fell upon the kingdom, Drussila was all geared up and ready. With few others who had also been assigned with the same job, she left the fortress and started for the castle. The streets were still empty, but it was not long before the first door opened. What started as a handful of people multiplied into hundreds, and soon everyone who bore the nationality of Euphrates was marching towards the castle.

Tonight, the King's home was filled with laughter and music, singing and dancing. There wasn't a single hint of sadness or ill intention, because everybody―the commoners and the rich, the soldiers and civilians, and _even_ the prisoners locked deep in the dungeons―was celebrating the birth of their beloved kingdom.

But it was a night gone wrong, and nothing could've changed that.

A soldier burst through the giant doors, his face pale and sweaty, and every soul in the castle stopped whatever they were doing to stare. Drussila, who was on the second floor, suddenly sensed an enormous amount of dark magic nearing.

She gulped, and fixed her attention to the poor man who began describing what he'd seen to the King.

_"__A whole army of daemons just crossed the border of Euphrates…" _

Her fingers tightened around her Gladius.

_"…__rushing to the kingdom at full speed…" _

She ran to the entrance.

_"…__we couldn't even see the horizon…" _

Drussila could no longer hear his words for she was already running to the fortress with such speed. She thought she heard the stomps of other soldiers behind her, but she didn't bother to check; she flew up the stairs, up to the western watchtower, where she could have a good view from above.

The view, was in fact, _not good._ Not good _at all_.

"This is…."

The horizon was no more, instead taking its place was a big black mass stretching from one end to another. The distance between them was decreasing with every second wasted, and Drussila knew, now was not the time to be stricken by the enemy's power. She turned, and in her haste, did not notice the figure who had crept up behind her. She bumped into him.

Atticus stared down at her with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. "I thought I had told you to guard the King," he said as a matter of fact.

She suddenly remembered of her mission, and she quickly ducked her head in embarrassment. "Forgive me, General, but I―"

She was cut off by a dismissive wave of his hand. "No matter. We are evacuating the civilians to the dungeons right now and we need as many magic users as possible to buy us time. Silvia is already at the eastern watchtower―"

"She's here?" Drussila said, encouraged now that she would be fighting side by side with her teacher.

"Yes. She came as soon as she felt them coming."

"I'll go there now." She was yanked back by her arm.

"Drussila, I will let you fight up there," he said gravely. "But know this. If we can't hold them back anymore, forget us. Take the King and his family down the tunnel and escort them safely to Gatigos. They are in good terms with us and should be willing to give us refuge. Understand?"

"But―"

"Do you understand, soldier?" He was barking at her now, the desperation clear in his voice.

_This is for the sake of the country_, _Drussila._ She told herself. _If the King dies, then Euphrates will die with him. _

Finally, she swallowed her _No_ and let out a forceful _Yes_.

Atticus nodded at this and he tightened his grip on her arm before letting it go completely. "Go."

Drussila ran as fast as she could, venturing through the narrow pathway connecting both towers. Below her was a vast open area, and she realized with relief, that the whole legion had gathered there.

There was a lone man on a hoarse in front of them; a tall muscular figure holding a claymore―a type of sword that could only be obtained from land far far away. And Drussila knew only one person who wielded it.

"They may have magic, they may not be human," Arsene's voice bellowed for the thousands of armored men to hear. "But we are the legion and we will not perish! Cast your fear away for tonight, Euphrates shall live!" As soon as he finished his speech, he raised his claymore and the thousands of men behind him unsheathed their swords and raised their spears.

The strangest feelings washed over her, a mix between confidence and the yearning to be down there to fight with them. Sadly, she had a much more important task at hand. So she tore her eyes away when they charged at the incoming daemons – brave and fearless, just like how they were trained to be.

"Just don't die, Arsene," she murmured, continuing her journey to the eastern tower. "Don't die."

**.0.0**

"Drussila!"

The person who called her wore a garb that was certainly unfit for this occasion. A dress made of fine silk, its color baby blue, and it flowed graciously behind her like a tidal wave as she ran towards her. Any other person would've laughed at this, but Drussila simply could not. For it was her strange taste of fashion that marked this person as Silvia the Sorceress, her teacher.

Silvia hugged her, and Drussila could immediately smell her homemade perfume―something like jasmine, Drussila couldn't be sure. "Oh, dearie, I was starting to wonder where you were." And after a few more reassurance that she was indeed fine, the Sorceress finally let go of her.

"It's a shame that our next meeting has to be at a time like this," Silvia didn't sound alarmed at the fact that she could be killed in any moment, rather she sounded tired and annoyed. "It never occurred to me that they would attack during Euphrates' biggest celebration. But then again, it wasn't so surprising."

Drussila nodded in agreement and then said, "I want to help."

Silvia smiled softly at her. "Of course, girl, you always do. But first," She turned to three others who were crouching on the cobblestone path. "Has the seal been prepared?"

One of them gave a stiff salute before answering, "Yes, ma'am!"

Silvia looked over the large symbol that had been drawn (and Drussila too, in curiosity, and realized the seal was used to activate the barrier) ― a circle with a simple hexagram and intricate symbols around it―and gave an approving nod.

"And I hope you are all magic user? Making a barrier this large alone might be a problem."

It was another soldier who answered this time. "Yes. Our team is specially prepared for this."

"Good," Silvia said. "Good! Then this won't be as troubling as last time," she said in a cheerful tone. "Let's get started―oh and, Drussila, you might want to step back a bit."

Silvia stepped onto the circle as the others took their places; one to her left, one to her right, and one more in front of her. She heard murmurs, and with awe Drussila watched as the seal glowed dimmed blue. The four of them raised their hands and she felt it _then_.

Drussila knew well of this technique―_theoretically_. In one of her lessons, Silvia had told her that creating barriers could be very draining, for the user took their own magic and hardened it in a form of a protective layer. Its size and its endurance fully depended on the user. When Drussila had asked for her to teach her, Silvia refused.

"You wouldn't need it anyway. It takes too long to activate it in battle," she'd said, and now she understood what her teacher had meant.

But always the curious one, and always wanting to learn, Drussila couldn't helped but observe them in hope she could do the same in the future. Her senses were tingling from the amount of magic in her surroundings (she was rather sensitive, but this knack had proved most useful in hopeless times) and looked for anything amiss. There was nothing.

_Where is the barrier? If it does take that long, then the daemons will surely get here before― _

And she turned just in time to see the translucent wall rising from the ground, stretching from one end to the other, and it went up and up, and up until there was only a small hole left to be covered. The daemons were attacking now, black ugly things thrown at the barrier only to bounce off as if they were nothing. And the legion began to attack.

Drussila took this as an approval to retaliate. She prepared herself to perform a very deadly technique Silvia had once taught her, where she could easily manipulate the air around into lethal projectiles when she caught something moving in the sky. At first glance, she mistook it for a bird―but after longer inspection, she realized it was flying dangerously close to the small opening.

Silvia must have noticed it too, for she was squinting at it.

"Drussila, that's a daemon!" Silvia said. She then looked at her with a conflicted expression. "Go! I'll catch up with you!"

There was no time to warn the others, no time to _even_ reply Silvia. The daemon had entered Euphrates and Drussila was already chasing it―which proved to be harder than she expected. It flew with god-like speed, expertly making turns into narrow alleyways and avoiding main streets. She wondered how a daemon could have known their enemy's territory so well when the shadow she'd been following disappeared completely.

Hands on her knees and chest heaving, Drussila closed her eyes and focused on her senses. The daemon was close; she could feel its presence like a throbbing pulse, and for a few seconds, she let her senses guide her towards it.

And then she opened her eyes with furrowed brows.

How odd. This daemon's magic was quite distinctive, different from other daemons she'd encountered. It almost felt like _hers, _like a human's. But how?

A large amount of magic flared from somewhere near her and a second later, she heard a resounding boom. And then she saw blackish curing smoke rising to the sky.

_Oh no, no no no no…. _

When she reached there, all Drussila could do was stare.

It took a moment for her to realize that _this thing_ in front of her was a castle. It took her another moment to stop staring. God, just what in the world happened here?

Mustering up her courage, Drussila took a tentative step forward, then another, and another. She kept her gaze leveled, avoiding the ground and the bodies and limbs, and instead focused on the gaping hole, which according to her memory, should have a massive wooden door.

If the exterior of the castle was bad, then she couldn't find the right word to suit the interior. There was not a single thing intact in the room. The once beautiful embroidered banners hung weakly on their poles, black and unrecognizable. Furniture gone, broken or burned. Drussila couldn't take two steps forward without stepping on shards of glass or pieces of burned wood. Some distance away from her was a blackish imprint on the ground. It seemed the explosion had come from there.

She heard movements, and then a voice rasped, "Kid."

Her head whirled to the owner of the voice, her Gladius ready in her hands.

The man, injured but alive, leaned on the wall behind him while clutching his bloodied torso. A soldier. Drussila sheathed her sword, but kept her hand on the hilt as she approached him warily.

"You have to get out of here," He said quickly. "She's going to come back and then if she sees me alive and you―" He stopped here with wide eyes. They suddenly hold a certain twinkle. "Aren't you the General's kid? But of course you are! No other girl holds a sword like you do."

Drussila opened her mouth, but was silenced as two bloodied hands seized her shoulders. "The King, girl! You must go to him!"

Finally, the question she'd been meaning to ask. "Where is he?" She asked him.

"They should be in the tunnel now, but if she―" The soldier's eyes darted pass her shoulder and his face contorted from panic to horror.

Suddenly Drussila became fully aware of _what_ was standing behind her, but before she could even look at her opponent, sometime hard collided with her side and she was sent flying across the room. The pain was immediate. The spot where she'd been hit throbbed horribly beneath her armor and was increased when she landed hard on the ground.

_She should've brought her shield with her. Damn…_

A shriek filled the room and then she heard no more of the poor man.

She summoned her magic and touched the throbbing skin with her hand. The pain slowly ebbed away into an annoying ache, and Drussila breathed relief into her system. There. This would do for now. She'd have to conserve as much magic as possible if she were to face an opponent as strong as this.

But the daemon did not come for her. As she struggled to her feet, she heard the ground sake under her feet. The daemon must have gone to look for the King. No sooner than later, she found herself standing over a very suspicious two-feet-wide hole.

Drussila sighed to herself and thought of how _eventful_ tonight had become, before she let the dark gaping hole swallow her whole.

**O.O.O.O **

There were not many battles Drussila had ever fought, but she'd made sure each one of them was victorious enough to get acknowledgement. However in those battles, she was never alone. She would always have Atticus by her side, or Arsene, or Silvia, or perhaps a hundred or so men that would make sure she stayed alive.

But now she was alone, inside a tunnel that a few minutes prior should not have existed, and with her was a lethal, unclear, daemon. Despite the circumstances, Drussila managed to convince herself that panicking would do no good to her, and that the daemon hadn't gotten to them yet (because so far she hadn't heard any bloodcurdling screams or explosions, and the mere thought of it was relieving).

For some time, the only thing she saw was darkness and the only thing she heard were own soft footsteps. Drussila made sure its absence did not fool her twice, but even after she reached the actual tunnel, there was still no sign of the daemon.

She sniffed the air―damp and stale, like how an underground tunnel should smell like, and a hint of dark magic.

And then, she ran.

Only God knew what would happen if she spent too much time here. So she ran like never before and made sure her footsteps were loud enough for the daemon to hear, in hope she could lure it to her instead of the King.

The daemon still did not come for her. Either it did not hear her or it was smart enough to see through her plan, Drussila couldn't decide. But an answer came no later in a form of a battle.

The clashes of swords were unmistakable and the amount of magic in the tunnel increased significantly. She fastened her pace, but it was not long before she heard the sign of a losing battle. Something unpleasant dropped in her stomach when she heard the first of many screams of pain. And then everything became quiet at once.

Her heart constricted at the sight. There were perhaps five dead soldiers, all of which she recognized belong to very same team who'd been assigned to protect the King. She had only gotten very brief chats with them, and they were all good men, loyal to the King, loyal to the country. It took all her will not to cradle them in her hands and mourn.

"Forgive me," she whispered to them.

Drussila wasted no more time in pursuing the daemon, and after minutes of futile search, she finally caught up to them. The last soldier was slumped against the wall, dead. The King and his royal family―oh the relief she felt when she saw them alive and unscathed.

He ushered his wife and his two children away. "Run! While you still can!" He said, and unsheathed his sword.

The daemon moved.

Drussila swung her Gladius, which had been vibrating in her hands, and released a blast of pure magic. Inches from reaching the daemon, it turned, cancelling the attack with a similar technique.

Finally! She had its―

She stopped.

Drussila was taken aback.

Drussila had never been taken aback. And certainly not in battles.

The daemon wasn't snarling at her. No drools staining the ground. No claws. No needlelike teeth. No twisted limbs. Instead, it wore a dark colored plate armor with spikes protruding from both of its shoulder plates. Its head was fully covered in a matching helmet, only having two slits for vision. Slender fingers held a blood coated scimitar.

Drussila didn't know if she should be grateful or freaking out.

A humanoid daemon.

_That_ was a first.

Three purple orbs flew towards her. Drussila pursed her lips, decided to ignore the nagging in her head, and then with all her might, she charged. The daemon followed suit.

She ducked as one sailed pass her head, countered the second with her Gladius, and sidestepped just as the last grazed her nose.

A blur.

Drussila brought her Gladius upwards and parried a powerful swing aimed at her head. The shrieks of both weapons echoed, and she smiled for the briefest moment when the daemon pulled back. Her turn.

She delivered a few swings and thrusts, all of which were predictable but purposeful. The daemon blocked and dodged as if they were nothing, because they were nothing. And while she kept it busy, her eyes took in _everything_.

_Scimitar. Close-range. Slash. Fatal. Don't get hit._

The daemon twisted its body, spinning the scimitar in an attempt to confuse her, and then one step away from her, brought the blade in a vertical swing. She jumped backwards, but barely, and the blade grazed the material of her armor.

But the attack was not a loss. The daemon left its torso open and unprotected.

_Now. _

She moved before the daemon could recover. Grounding her feet, she thrust her Gladius.

Everything slowed down that instance. The daemon reeled backwards, dropping the scimitar. Drusssila kept pushing, because the daemon was not dead yet, and she felt the blade sink further, deeper.

_A little bit more―_

But there was no _a little bit more_. Cold metal met her face and the force loosened her grip on her Gladius. The ground welcomed her, and in her dazed state, only one word came out.

_How?_

Ragged breath and clinks of metal. She heard it coming. Her mind told her to get up and fight. But the ground was still under her. The adrenaline that had energized her was gone. She was paralyzed. She could not move. Her death was in evitable.

Something was pressed against her neck. Drussila forced her head to move. Red and silver. Her Gladius. The weapon she'd wielded all these years, now used as a weapon against herself.

How clichéd.

She closed her eyes, accepting what would happen next. She almost lost herself in the darkness, but a gasp brought her back. Weakly she opened her eyes. The images were blur, but she realized her Gladius was not there. Instead, in front of her, looked almost like a face. Big blue eyes blinked down at her.

Eyes. Human. Oh and is that hair? _Strawberry blonde?_

_A daemon…. _She closed her eyes. _With blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. _And before slumber could claim her, one more word came out.

_What..?_

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**Gladius : standard military sword for the Roman Legion.**

**Daemons : Another name for demons. **

**Claymore : a large 2 edged sword formerly used by Scottish Highlanders.**

**Euphrates : fictional country I made up :). **

**A/N: Reviews would be greatly appreciated and thank you for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2 : The Healer

**A/N : I am SO very sorry for the long update. For those of you guys who had been waiting so long for this new chapter, forgive me. School started and real life got in the way. Bad excuses, really. This chapter isn't as long as the previous one, and forgive me for that too. I wanted to tell you that I'm not abandoning this story so I just uploaded what I've got. Thank you to those who have kindly left a review, or faved or followed this story. If there are any grammar mistakes, feel free to point it out. **

**Disclaimer : I don't own ROTG or Frozen. **

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The moment she was lifted off the ground, Drussila knew she'd once again escaped from the grasping hands of death. She tasted copper on her chapped lips. She breathed the stale air of the tunnel. She felt the throbbing bruise and the jabbing pain on her side.

She wouldn't be knowing any of these if she were dead.

The daemon had spared her; Drussila wasn't sure what to make of that. Why didn't it kill her when it had the chance? Did it go after the King? Was the King _even_ alive? What was going on?

Questions, so many of them and unanswered; in her weakened state, they only confused her further into oblivion. She could not take them anymore. Everything numbed, and muted, and darkened, and she was plunged into nothingness.

**.0.0.0**

There was not a time where Drussila didn't struggle to consciousness.

Pain and exhaustion weighed her down, putting her into a dream world where she saw faces she'd never met and went to places she'd never been to. Interaction between her and the outside world were few and precious. There was a time when a woman asked her how she felt―and Drussila was aware. She perfectly understood her. It was just that when she tried to form a simple 'Yes', her throat felt clogged and her tongue too thick in her mouth. Unsatisfied, the woman decided that she needed more rest (and medicine), despite her silent protests. She realized how weak she was then.

But she had to get better.

The pain burning her side ebbed away, and she got glimpses of the world around her more often. She picked up unknown voices of healers as they tossed out words that sounded from Silvia's ancient scrolls from one part of the room to the other. She grimaced at the never pleasant smell of numerous herbs brewing together.

Drussila was getting better.

Soon, she tried opening her eyes, and when the world didn't spin, she tried wiggling her fingers and lifting her arms. They wiggled, and they lifted. Drussila decided to push her luck. She called for help.

A woman in robes and frizzly hair rushed to her as soon as she heard her croaked but audible voice. The first thing Drussila did was ask for water, and the woman came back with something that didn't taste like water at all (but as refreshing). The second thing she did, was ask whether the King was alive or not.

He was.

Only after this healer's confirmation did Drussila let herself sink further into the bed, more out of relief instead of exhaustion. The weight in her chest lifted and those horrible scenarios which kept haunting her disappeared. She hadn't failed Euphrates―hadn't fail Atticus.

Drussila was content enough to go back to sleep, but there was still one more question in her mind.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," She wheezed, trying very hard to keep her eyes open. "If I may know, how long have I been unconscious?"

The healer was rummaging through cabinets across the room when she answered, "One week, dear."

That wasn't so bad, Drussila thought. She'd heard others who had been through worse.

The woman returned with fresh bandages and three suspicious looking bottles. Drussila eyed them carefully, "And not a day without a visit from your father," she said.

Her eyes snapped open, and this time they stayed that way. "Atti―I mean, the General visited?"

"Why, of course," she said, moving the bed sheet away and exposing her legs. Drussila felt her eyes bulge in their sockets. What laid in front of her were no longer the legs she'd used to walk and run and jump―instead she only saw her toes poking through the layers of white pristine bandages.

Drussila moved them, and gasped, the pain exploding first from her legs before spreading throughout her body.

The woman frowned and pulled her hands away. "Does it still hurt? I thought they've mended back the bones already―you know what, I'll send someone to check on them."

She blinked her eyes. Her legs didn't return. She said slowly, "I…broke my legs?"

"Comminuted fracture to be exact. From here―" Her finger hovered slightly above her kneecap, and she dragged it to her toes. "―to here. You are one lucky girl, I must say. Not many people could ever walk again after those injuries."

Drussila couldn't find the right words to say, so instead she stayed quiet.

"Your name―" She pulled out a parchment and studied it. "Droo-see-la. Yes, well Drussila, you can call me Kali. Don't call me ma'am alright? It makes me sound old. And here, drink this up."

Kali took her shaking fingers and wrapped it around the bottle before pushing it to her lips. "This should help your recovery," she said. "How do you feel?"

_Sick_. "Better, I think."

Kali searched her face, and then inspected her legs with those same scrutinizing eyes. She made a sound of approval, and while the healer went back to set those bottles back in order, Drussila was lost in thoughts.

A small part of her knew well that no matter how well she'd prepared, there was still a chance that she might fall. This never deterred her spirit. Every battle left scars. Roll up her the white gown she was wearing and you'd find faint pink lines left by many weapons that were meant to take her life. They never deterred her spirit either.

She was beginning to believe that she was lucky enough to outlive those around her.

Life seemed to disagree.

After all, it only took one slip.

The click of the door sent her back to reality. "Good. I'll come back later to check up on you, alright? Rest for now."

A second of hesitation, and then she said, "Do you know what happened to me?"

The gap was only a hair's breadth when the door abruptly stopped. For a very long time, Drussila did not hear a peep from the healer. She waited a bit more, and when there was still no response, Drussila finally caved into exhaustion and closed her eyes.

And then she heard Kali's voice, loud and clear and from her right.

"A lot of people have been wondering about you, do you know?"

Drussila jumped, her eyes flying open and her reflexes kicking in. The pain came a heartbeat later, and she clamped her mouth shut to silence her scream. By the time she calmed herself down, Kali had pulled a chair beside her bed and was watching her closely.

The longer Drussila looked at her the more she realized she could not recognize this woman. Not a single detail had changed in her feature. Her hair was still grey and frizzly, her skin was still tanned and wrinkled, her eyes were still two brilliant emerald orbs, but they were now fixated at her with an unfamiliar emotion.

Perhaps there was no Kali since the first place.

"The war lasted for three hours," Kali said, her tone suggesting incredulity. "Compared to the Retribution War, this was nothing. Your people were beginning to wonder if the daemons were even trying."

Drussila understood what she was implying, so she said, "They weren't." Kali smiled gleefully at her. Maniacally.

"Exactly, _exactly_. I'm glad we are on the same page, dear. You may be as smart as they describe." Kali leaned closer, close to her ear. Drussila did not dare move. "Their intention was never war. A change of strategy after centuries. Why, may I ask?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?" Kali tapped her chin, obviously feigning confusion. "I wonder who does. Perhaps that daemon has the answers."

Kali knew. It was obvious by then that she was no ordinary person. This new discovery only made her heart race and magnified the fear in her gut. A spy perhaps? Or an assassin? It didn't really matter what she was, or _who _she was. Drussila was injured and unarmed. Once again, she was not in control of her own life.

"Kill me now if you wish." The calmness of her words surprised even herself. Drussila swallowed, looking away. "I know nothing more than you do. I should've died down there in the hands of that daemon anyway."

"Oh my." Kali laughed, the sound surprisingly warm and rich. "Oh no, dear, _you_ got it all wrong. I did not come here to kill you."

"Then―"

"I did not come here with harmful intentions." Kali sounded more amused than offended. "Have I scared you so much to make you think so lowly of me?"

Drussila stared at her, failing to detect any sort of lie in her words. "What do you want then?"

"Exchange of information," Kali said simply. "See, you were the only one who encountered that particular daemon in combat—and lived to tell the tale. I am not going to ask you what happened down there. Instead, I am going to ask you about this daemon. I want you to picture it in your head and describe it to me."

Everything came flashing to her at once. The magic. The scimitar. The armor. The battle. A nag at the back of her mind told her there was more, but she could recall no more.

"Why do you want to know?" Drussila asked instead.

"Believe me when I tell you this is for your own good, my dear."

Drussila wasn't done. "And how is that?" She said skeptically.

Kali sighed as she rubbed the wrinkles of her temple. "I understand you don't trust me. In fact, I would've questioned you if you had told a stranger everything without protest. Very well, dear. How do I gain your trust?"

Drussila thought for a moment. "You said an exchange?"

"I did."

She smiled, knowing she'd get the upper hand. "I'll tell you if you tell me first."

"A fair deal." Kali nodded and her face took on the unfamiliar expression she had moments ago. "However, you must promise me this one thing, dear. What I am about to tell you will be heard by no one. Speak to this to no one. Do you understand? I am watching. I am always watching. If you ever so speak my name in your mind, I will know. If you ever so say my name, there will be consequences. This conversation between you and me will stay between us. Do you understand?"

Drussila did not hesitate. "Yes."

"Good. Let me tell you a bit about myself to avoid confusion, shall we?

"I have previously introduced myself as Kali. I did not lie about my name. I do not lie, dear. Every word that comes out from my mouth is truth. I am neither human nor daemon. Mortals refer me as a deity, and thus I refer myself as one too.

"And yet, no matter how much magic I wield, no matter how inhumanly I am, I cannot deny my love for one of the greatest thing you mortals have created in this dull world. Stories, my dear. How quaint, you must think. I admit my obsession is slightly over the top, and it has led me to countless adventures—but they are for good causes, I assure you.

"Some time ago I discovered the greatest author of all. He is, until now, best story teller to ever exist. He is Life himself, dear. I have watched him write for so long, I've noticed the hints he put in every word, the clues he put in every detail. I realize not long ago that he has flipped the next page and is now writing a new chapter. And in this chapter, I believe he has chosen a new character."

It took longer than usual to process her words. Unconsciously she dug her fingers into her skin as her body grew tenser by the second. She did not feel the sting. "And you mean to tell me, that this character he's chosen—is _me_."

Kali's expression was completely blank. "Exactly."

"If—_let's say_—everything you told me is true, what's going to happen to me?"

"They _are_ true." Drussila silently agreed that her obsession was _slightly_ over the top. "And I honestly do not know," Kali admitted. "I make predictions not the future."

Her mouth moved by itself. "Then this is only a prediction? Me as this new _character_?"

Kali's eyebrows disappeared behind the strands of her grey hair. "Did you not hear me when I said everything I told you was true?"

"But you also said you didn't know the future."

"I don't." The deity leaned further into the chair, as if the motion could prevent her from lashing at her. "Don't make me regret this, dear. Coming to you has presented a number of problems already."

This next question should decide whether Drussila could trust the deity or not. "Why then, if it troubles you so much?"

"You ask so many question, do you know? If you were talking to other gods, they would've damned you to hell already. But I am not like them," she said, huffing. "Something grand is happening. Everything points to that. And I'm afraid he won't just involve humans and daemons this time." Kali paused, her eyes clouding. "It has been a millennium after all."

Drussila traced back the years, recalling specific events happening in the past 100 years…500… and then 1000. A millennium from now. Exactly 1000 years from this day. Something inside her head clicked, a certain passage from one of the many manuscripts she'd read about this particular time resurface. A wretched feeling settled in her gut.

"Chaos," she whispered.

Kali looked away, crossing her thin arms over her seemingly frail body. "They were gruesome times. I can attest you that."

Drussila's eyes widened. "You were there."

The deity smiled ruefully at her. "One of the luckiest to survive. Though knowing this, I would have rather died there. Words could never really capture the true horror of living through that age."

Drussila found breathing suddenly very hard. Wars between nations. Wars between gods. Creatures escaping from the depts of hell, creatures who were responsible for the death of millions of humans, creatures they were fighting now. If what Kali said were true, there was no telling what could happen.

"The daemon I fought was unlike others," Drussila explained quickly, desperate to change the topic. "It looked like a human, wore an armor and wielded a scimitar. Another thing I've noticed is how different its magic felt." Under the deity's questioning's gaze, she added, "It felt like a human's."

"Ah." Kali said, smiling at her. The sudden change of her demeanor stunned her. "Well then, I thank you for your cooperation, dear."

Drussila's eyes followed her retreating form. "Where are you going?"

Kali, who was dusting nonexistent dust off her robes, looked up at her. "To leave of course. I don't want to slow down your recovery. Go rest."

She flexed her fingers and Drussila's skin began to tingle. The magic flowing from the deity felt strange and powerful; she immediately memorized it for she knew she would not be seeing her for a long time.

"Good bye, Drussila. It was nice talking to a human once every hundreds of years. And perhaps you'll think better of me the next time we meet."

Drussila did not have the chance to return the greeting for the next second, she felt a flare of magic and Kali blinked out of existence.

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**Retribution War (fictional) : A war which raged between Euphrates and Gatigos against the daemons. The war begun about 100 years ago and ended not long before Elsa was born. **

**A/N : Jack won't appear in another few chapters. So please be patient? Oh by the way, would you like the chapters to be shorter and updated often, or longer? Please leave a review!**

**#unedited**


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